


He Fell Twice (and Fell Further from Home)

by andsowefell



Series: Alternate Universes [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Human, Human!Lucifer, M/M, Samifer - Freeform, Twice!Fallen!Lucifer, human!AU, hurt!Lucifer
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-28
Updated: 2015-05-28
Packaged: 2018-04-01 17:17:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4028239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andsowefell/pseuds/andsowefell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lucifer is twice Fallen and has lost most of his Grace, and Sam finds him in a secluded alleyway. He takes him home, not thinking of the repercussions it'll have.</p>
            </blockquote>





	He Fell Twice (and Fell Further from Home)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fuckyeahlucifersupernatural](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fuckyeahlucifersupernatural/gifts).



> **Ideal Accompanied Listening** (This is a Black Metal song called Lucifer. It doesn't get more Lucifer than that. It's also simply a really good song.)
> 
> This is for the lovely, beautiful, gorgeous, absolutely amazing Luci, who was so kind as to proofread some total BS I asked her to take a look at.
> 
> This is mostly fluff with the odd bit of drama and just slightly too much gore thrown in.  
> The title is from a poem a friend wrote. 
> 
> English is hard. I hate it.
> 
> (Spoiler: There will be no sex, shockingly enough. Also, Lucifer looks like a bum. This is not over yet. There is still a good deal coming with this fic. I feel like it'll be unfinished or unpolished or badly ended otherwise.)

Rain patters against the windows, a steady, incessant drum, punctuated by the rattling howls and snarls of the wind in the tree, and branches scraping windows and walls. At times, lightning will flash, illuminating the sky for a brief two or three seconds, and the powerful bellow of thunder will rend the silence, startling little ones’ sleep and waking animals’ fitful rest.

It’s in weather like this that Sam has to drive into town in the rickety old piece-of-shit rental car he stole last week, to buy water. They’ve run out, and Kevin’s incessant complaining about having to drink soft drinks and iced tea had eventually coerced Sam into going to buy water for the prophet and himself; Dean practically lives off of beer, and Castiel doesn’t need anything.

He’s turning into the alleyway closest to the city when something catches his gaze. An oblong puddle of blood on the road, deep red and sifting into the asphalt’s myriad cracks and gaps, and feathers everywhere. Something tells Sam this doesn’t come from the local escapee chicken, because the feathers are crimson tinged in black, crisped and charred around the edges. 

Stopping his car, Sam parks awkwardly, halfway in someone’s driveway. Right now he doesn’t care. He darts along the street, legs eating ground.

He finds Lucifer on the next street, a complete mess, looking like the dummy for a staged car accident. His left leg is hideously askew; his right shattered beyond repair and recognition, and numerous gaping cuts disfigure the rest of him. Tendrils of smoke stream upward from his body and wings, the stench of burnt flesh and ash hanging over him. He’s unconscious.

Nearby, cars continue to thread in and out of streets, guided by traffic lights and the pull of money and jobs to be had. No one pays the angel any mind. 

Unsure of what to do, Sam crouches beside Lucifer, trying to assess what to do. Does he pick the blond up? Does he call an ambulance? He doubts hospital staff will know what to do with a fallen angel. They don't know what to do with humans half of the time.

Tentatively, he tests the blond’s ribs for breaking, and Lucifer twitches, but he doesn’t awaken. It’s then that Sam takes notice of the numerous burns and bruises on his face and arms, worse still than the sores and open wounds he’s left on Nick’s skin.

He doesn’t know what to do short of waking Lucifer to get his attention. 

Several minutes into the process of gently shaking and prodding the angel, Sam gives up, at a loss. Lucifer continually tenses beneath his hands, and Sam swears he heard him moan softly once or twice, but that’s about as much headway as he has made.

Sam seriously considers leaving for a bit, and he’s in the process of righting himself and dusting his jeans off when he feels an iron grip on his ankle, and desperate eyes boring into his back. He turns to face the blond, and now that he’s conscious and awake, Lucifer looks nothing if not dejected, icy blue eyes rimmed in purple bruises, stubble coating his face like a deer in molt.

“Sam.”

Coming from Lucifer, the word is half prayer, half plea. The rough translation Sam’s getting out of this is _help me_ , and he would like to, he really would, but he doesn’t have the faintest idea what to do or how to do it. 

He stops short when he feels Lucifer drag himself sideways against his shins, too weak to sit up or crawl, but needing the proximity, or simply something to lean on or support himself against. The thought would usually strike Sam as funny – Lucifer looks like a caterpillar – but there’s nothing amusing about this. Still, it isn’t enough to make Sam pity him just yet.

A caravan of cars passes through, just beside them, on the main road. 

Deciding he’d better take incentive and help Lucifer get out of this mess, Sam hooks one arm beneath the blond’s armpits and the other around his shoulders, giving Lucifer maximum support, letting the angel lean into him without toppling them both.

Lucifer is semiconscious, eyes half open, trembling all over, and babbling incoherently. He’s obviously still in a great deal of pain, and, had he not called out to him just a minute ago, Sam would have said Lucifer was unaware of his presence. As it is, the blond is shaking so hard Sam can barely carry him, nearly dead weight.

It takes a good five minutes before Sam drags Lucifer to the rental car, opens the door, and heaves him inside without doing more damage than has already been done. 

Both his arms and chest and the upholstery of the car are smeared with gore, and Sam’s pretty sure the blood is Lucifer’s own. With a last passing glance at the angel, he climbs into the other side and buckles up, then remembers he had better do the same for the blond. 

The job done, Sam starts the ignition and slowly snakes out of the alleyway, being gentle so as not to jolt Lucifer more or cause an accident and kill them both. 

He takes his time driving back to the Bunker, too. By the time they arrive it's four in the morning and Lucifer is slumped in his seat, a bloody, filthy mess. It takes Sam an incredible amount of effort to get him out of the car without further injuring him, but the angel is in such a sorry state he wonders if it'll make a difference at this point. 

They're upstairs by the time Lucifer truly regains consciousness, close to the Observatory, and so it comes as a shock to Sam when he gently sets the blond against the nearest wall so he won't topple while Sam catches his breath - and Lucifer _screams_. His wings are rubbing against the wall's rough tapestry, sensitive skin being torn by nodules and cracked paint, and he's still whimpering when Sam pulls him away, startled by the outburst.

Dean comes bursting into the hallway, eyes wide, and stops short a pace in front of them.

"I -" he starts. "I - Sammy - What the _fuck_ is _Satan_ doing in our house?" he finally explodes and grabs the nearest item with the intent of throwing it at Lucifer's head. The blond barely flinches when a glass vase comes flying at him. Dean stands glaring at him for a full minute before finally returning to his room, muttering angrily all the while and vowing revenge.

"We should clean you up," Sam mutters once Dean is gone. Lucifer looks up at him, eyes startlingly pale in his grime-darkened face, and blinks. His impassive stare is enough to make shudders crawl up Sam's spine, and finally, he simply wraps his fingers around the Archangel's forearm and drags him to the bathroom.

Lucifer never once says a word of protest.

It takes a while for Sam to fully undress him; he's too weak to make his wings immaterial again, and Sam is left needing to cut the shirt Lucifer is wearing to pieces in order to get his wings out. Aside from that, the blond's legs are so mangled Sam finds himself simply pulling his - they might have been jeans at one point - down with one quick jerk, to quicken the process and lessen Lucifer's overall discomfort, and trying to ignore Lucifer's low moan of pain.

Ignoring such a weak, almost strangled, noise is hard, however, and Sam can't help gently rubbing the nape of the Archangel's neck, fingers threading into matted, dirty, too-long hair. At his touch, Lucifer shudders and settles into his hand, seemingly almost content with the care, if not affection, he's being shown. 

Once he's gotten the blond naked and the water in the bathtub feels satisfactory, Sam gives Lucifer a glance and takes a deep breath, mentally preparing himself for a lot of thrashing and whining and howling and overall displays of pain and startled fear.

They never come.

Lucifer is almost docile as Sam lifts him carefully, taking care not to jostle the angel too much, and sets him into the water. He even makes an effort to hold his own torso up, but it takes all of three seconds for him to collapse back down into the water, startled, sputtering and hissing.  
Sam ends up needing to rest a forearm behind Lucifer's neck, supporting his weight, and letting the Archangel settle his worryingly slight weight into him. 

Blood and dirt sift into the water whenever Lucifer moves, colouring the water black in a few minutes' time.

Throughout the process of Sam hosing the grime and blood off his body and out of his hair, he never says a word. He remains still, angling his head and body so Sam can clean him better, and the fact that this may be awkward or painful to Sam seems to have occurred to him, because he makes a point of trying to angle his legs and hips so Sam won't have to see too much of his dick. He isn't very successful, and the effort he _is_ making shocks Sam. No one should put themselves through so much pain because someone else would feel _awkward_ if they didn't. His respect for Lucifer rises a notch.

It takes a good half hour to properly remove all the dirt from Lucifer's skin alone, and then, he's still riddled with cuts and bruises and broken bones, and Sam is positive there's dirt in those, too. 

Lucifer leans into him, trembling, holding his left leg out at an awkward, impossible angle, as Sam helps him back out of the water and grabs a towel to wrap around the shuddering blond's shoulders. 

Whatever happened to him, it did a number on Nick as well. Lucifer is still monstrously tall, and broad-shouldered, but he's skinny, nearly frail. His collarbones form a visible bow across his chest, his cheeks look hollow and stick out too much, and the V of his hips is painfully obvious. His hair is matte and too long, nearly down to his shoulders, and Sam's pretty sure the neat, casual stubble Nick used to wear counts as a full-on beard at this point.

He mentally resolves to give Lucifer a haircut, shave and healthy diet (and something to set his bones), if only for Nick's sake. Sam can't bear to see him in such a state.

Slowly and surely, Sam leads the blond out of the bathroom and into his own room, and sets him on his bed. And here, in the dim lighting, the big, but not huge, bed, Lucifer looks almost _small_. He looks powerless. 

He's gazing at Sam, face upturned, eyes wide and still so hauntingly pale, and Sam sees nothing but acceptance in his gaze. 

He sits beside Lucifer, unravels the towel from around his shoulders. To his surprise, the blond falls into his arms, trembling, and presses up to him as close he can. It takes a second for Sam to realise that Lucifer's cold, or rather _feels_ cold, and wants to... leech body heat? Cuddle? Those are the first two options his mind forms, and none sounds appealing.

Still, he lets Lucifer lean into him while he rubs the towel down his back and sides, reaches across his nightstand for his hairbrush, and tries (mostly unsuccessfully) to untangle the knots and split ends in Lucifer's hair. Once or twice, the blond mewls and flinches when Sam jerks the brush too hard, but for the most part, he's calm and quiet.

Eventually Sam gives up and decides to simply ask Charlie for some conditioner, or to use his own olive oil treatment on Lucifer. He definitely needs one of the two.

For now, cleaning his injuries and getting him clothes seems more urgent to Sam.

He presses Lucifer down into the mattress and tells him firmly to stay here, and that he'll be right back. Lucifer nods and rolls over onto his side.

When Sam returns with rubbing alcohol, cotton balls and a damp washcloth (and another washcloth, because he figures Lucifer will need something to bite on), the blond is either asleep or unconscious, curled into a ball, tangled in Sam's blankets in a pathetic effort at keeping warm, most of the fabric bunched around his face and chest, hands balled into fists in an almost childlike way.

Sam leans in, shakes the Archangel's shoulder carefully. Lucifer twitches, convulses, but doesn't wake up. He repeatedly hums in a distressed sort of way or growls, head curled into the crook of his forearms, and after several moments, Sam comes to the conclusion that he's having nightmares.

_Nightmares. He's the king of nightmares, the god of terror and betrayal and lies. He doesn't_ get _nightmares._

Still, by the time Sam manages to rouse him, Lucifer is white as a sheet, trembling uncontrollably and breathing hard, eyes wide with shock. It takes several minutes of Sam gently rubbing in between his shoulder blades and carding his fingers through his hair for Lucifer to acceptably calm down so Sam can get him in a position to clean his wounds.

"This'll sting," he warns. Lucifer nods silently. "I brought you this to bite on if you need it."

Lucifer shakes his head. "I can handle it," he murmurs, and this is the first coherrent sentence Sam's heard him speak all evening. 

"Sure?" Sam asks, because he doesn't know what else to say. Lucifer fixes him with a steely gaze, blue eyes like ice, and Sam feels a surge of relief. This is the Lucifer he knows, tough and unyielding, and bold, so bold. A smile creeps along the edges of his mouth.

"I've handled much worse pain than this, Sam," Lucifer avows and clenches his jaws. "I'm sure I'll be fine with having a little alcohol poured onto me."

The bottle hasn't escaped him, then. Nor has the sterile, almost clinical stench. Sam swears mentally. If Lucifer is so alert now, he'll be a nightmare when he's fully awake and stronger.

No matter. Sam uncaps the alcohol and pours a good amount onto a cotton ball, then places a hand on Lucifer's shoulder.

"This is gonna sting, Lucifer," he repeats. "Especially with all your open wounds. You sure you're good?"

Lucifer tilts his head in confusion.

"Can you handle this?" Sam clarifies. The blond nods calmly.

Carefully, gingerly, Sam touches the cotton ball to a gash on Lucifer's chest, between his shoulder and his side, stretched all the way across his pectoral muscle and over his collarbone. As soon as the ball makes contact, the blond tenses and throws his head back, but he doesn't make any noise. He remains silent throughtout the cleaning of the first three cuts, but as soon as Sam moves down to his stomach, Lucifer suddenly groans, a low, strangled sound. 

"Sorry," Sam mutters nervously and takes the cotton ball away. Lucifer nods understandingly, breathing hard. After a moment Sam continues cleaning his injuries, more careful now, and this time, Lucifer remains silent. He's still panting, and he's stiff as a board, but he never makes a sound, and Sam's comforted with the knowledge that at least he has this much self-possession.

When he's finished, Sam leaves Lucifer to dry, and although the alcohol in his blood must burn like hell, the blond remains still. Sam takes the time to go to the bathroom cabinet for bandages and tape.

Lucifer's kneeling in a pile of clothing by the time Sam returns, searching for God-knows-what, and he pulls a sweater out of the small mountain, pulls it on (inside-out) and stands up by the time he notices Sam.

"Lucifer," Sam bites out. "I haven't bandaged you yet. Take that off. It's mine."

"I like it," Lucifer protests and folds the sweater around himself like a blanket. "It's warm and soft, and it smells like you. I like things that remind me of you."

He's so blunt. Sam shakes his head, smiling, and sets the bandage roll down. "You can wear my sweater afterward. You have to cooperate for now, though. Take it off."

Lucifer complies, muttering and grumbling. He folds the sweater and sets it onto Sam's bed almost reverently, and Sam unwraps the start of the gauze. 

Lucifer watches with... almost fascination as Sam winds the fabric around his soulders, arms, chest and stomach, like someone who wants to study medicine and finally has their chance.

When Sam finishes wrapping and securing the gauze, he picks up his sweater and hands it to Lucifer, who squirms into it almost eagerly, earning a startled laugh from Sam. 

"It's still inside-out," Sam informs the blond, grinning. Lucifer tilts his head and cranes his neck to look at the tag almost reflexively. It makes Sam wonder how many time he's put his clothes on the wrong way before.

With a smile, he helps Lucifer out of the sweater and back into it the right way, something almost like fondness blossoming in his chest as he watches the angel wrap his arms around himself and burrow his face into the warm fabric. It's odd, almost painful, to see this ancient, powerful being so delighted by a simple gift as this, and seeing the joy on Lucifer's face infects Sam.

"You can keep it," he offers. Lucifer's face _lights up_ like a christmas tree, eyes sparkling warmly, smile nearly splitting his face. Sam can't help smiling back, and grunting in surprise when Lucifer pounces against him with a soft _whump_ and burrows his face into Sam's chest. The simplicity, the _humanity_ of the gesture catches Sam completely off guard.

Surprised, he folds his arms around Lucifer for a moment, hugging him back, holding him in place. 

"Thank you," Lucifer sighs. Sam nods. This feels strange, to say the least, but it's also familiar, like being home. Like it's meant to be.

"You should sleep," Sam suggest gently and pushes Lucifer away. "You look like shit. Go to bed."

He moves to leave the room, turns toward the door, and he's halfway across the hallway when Lucifer calls after him.

"Sam?"

He turns, and there Lucifer is, in his sweater and nothing else, shuddering in the winter air (Sam opened the window to air out the room), looking expectant and small and _determined_.

"Stay with me," Lucifer continues softly, voice almost a whisper, but he's insistent, so insistent and so _bold_. He remains in place for several moments, arms curled around his chest, eyes hopeful.

Sam turns to face him. "Only for tonight," he acquiesces and follows Lucifer back into the room, pretending not to notice the blond's huge grin, or the way his eyes sparkle. 

And perhaps it's the night's events and how they strung together, maybe it's his feeling of needing to protect Lucifer ( _Lucifer_ , who should, by all rights, be protecting _him_ ), but Sam ends up staying much more than only one night.

**Author's Note:**

> bruh this sucked go read better fanfiction somewhere else


End file.
